


Until All You'll See Is My Ghost

by camwolfe



Series: The Water Can't Drown Me [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camwolfe/pseuds/camwolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are getting worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until All You'll See Is My Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> I keep forgetting to mention this but this is part of a series, and it probably won't make a lot of sense if you haven't read the original story.
> 
> Also, please read the tags before reading this. This has very detailed descriptions of depression and grief and some suicidal thoughts. 
> 
> Title from "I Of The Storm" by Of Monsters and Men.

He heard Bucky moving around downstairs, probably eating breakfast and getting ready for work.

Steve didn’t lift his head from the pillow.

A few minutes later, he heard Bucky’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Steve,” Bucky said, poking his head around the bedroom door. “I’m going to work. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

Steve was too tired to respond. After another long moment, he heard Bucky sigh.

“Okay,” Bucky said quietly, more to himself than Steve. He shut the door behind him.

Steve heard him leave. He still didn’t move.

 

When Bucky got home that evening, Steve hadn’t moved an inch.

“Steve,” Bucky said sharply as he walked into the room. “You gotta at least let Sergeant out and refill his water bowl.”

Steve stared at the wall beside their bed and didn’t respond.

“Steve,” Bucky said again. There was desperation in his voice now.

Steve blinked sleepily.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered under his breath. He went downstairs again.

Steve went back to sleep.

 

It occurred to him one morning that Bucky must have quietly taken over paying the bills. Steve hadn’t worked in months and hadn’t bothered to check the mail in longer. The lights were still on, though, and the shower still had hot water, so Bucky must be doing that too. And getting the groceries. When had Steve last done that? He didn’t know.

He felt bad about it. He felt fucking terrible about it, actually, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make himself do something about it. Instead, he just laid in bed and stared at the ceiling and thought about how many things he needed to do and how he wasn’t doing them.

 

He shuffled downstairs one morning. He thought it was a Saturday, but he wasn’t sure. Bucky was here during the day, which meant that it was probably a weekend. Maybe it was Sunday.

He hadn’t eaten since… well, since the last time Bucky had brought him a plate of spaghetti and sat there and nagged him until he ate it. Steve didn’t remember when that was, either.

His head had started to pound and his mouth was dry, and his stomach had started to twist and hurt. Getting out of bed was even harder than it normally was. He needed to eat.

He shuffled into the kitchen and lethargically drank a glass of water. He grabbed a granola bar and started shuffling back upstairs.

He caught a glimpse of Natasha’s bright hair through the glass door that opened out onto the deck. It was getting cold outside now, and she was sitting wrapped up in a blanket.

Steve wandered a little closer. The windows were open, and he could hear Bucky talking. He could see Bucky through the windows now, too. He was sitting next to Natasha, their legs dangling off the deck and over the rocks below. Sergeant was curled up next to Bucky, his head in his lap.

Steve didn’t want to eavesdrop, so he dragged himself back upstairs and collapsed into bed again. He was trying to make himself eat his granola bar when he realized that with the bedroom windows open, he could easily hear their conversation.

“He dropped out of med school?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled. His voice sounded thick and hoarse, like he’d been crying. “He went for a month and a half and then dropped it.”

Steve’s stomach turned over.

“But he worked so hard to get in.“

“I know,” Bucky interrupted. “Trust me, I tried to tell him that.”

“He’s still working though, right?”

Bucky laughed bitterly. “No. I mean, he still technically has his job. He’s in charge of the shifts, right? So he just organized it so that he doesn’t have shifts anymore. He hasn’t been there in weeks.”

“Shit,” Natasha said quietly.

“I know,” Bucky mumbled again.

“Bucky, he needs help,” Natasha said. “More than you can give him.”

Bucky laughed again, but it sounded more like a sob. “I know that, Nat! I’ve tried! I’ve called doctors, I’ve set up appointments. He won’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said miserably. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried yelling, I’ve tried being patient, it doesn’t matter. Nothing works. I got him as far as the front door one time before he stopped and turned around.”

Natasha sighed. “Maybe Clint and I can try to talk to him.”

Bucky laughed bitterly. “Go ahead. He’ll just pretend he’s asleep, or he’ll stare at you like you’re not even there and then just go back to bed.”

“Bucky – “

“I’ve tried everything, Nat,” Bucky said. It sounded like he was crying now. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“You’re doing everything you can.”

“It’s not enough!”

“I know. Hey, it’s okay. It’ll be alright. Clint’ll be back in a week. I’ll get him to come straight here, okay? We’ll help. Come on, let’s go inside. It’s too cold to be out here.”

Steve heard them get up and go inside, the porch door shutting behind them.

He curled around his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

Bucky didn’t come upstairs until late that night. Steve was still awake when Bucky opened the bedroom door and came inside.

Bucky crawled onto the bed beside him. He curled up next to Steve, his eyes closing almost immediately.

Steve watched him in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Bucky’s eyes barely fluttered. He looked exhausted.

 

He hated hurting Bucky like this. He hated it so much. He hated being this burden on him. Bucky shouldn’t have to deal with this. With him.

Steve dragged himself out of bed a few nights later, doing his best not to wake Bucky up as he lay sprawled next to him. Their bed was warm and comfortable, but Steve couldn’t breathe and he didn’t want to bother Bucky.

Sergeant was asleep at the foot of their bed, but he raised his head as Steve walked by.

Steve went into the washroom and shut the door quietly behind him, sinking down onto the cool tiles with his back to the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his elbows on them, bowing his head. He wanted to cry so, so badly, but he couldn’t. He wanted to let out the weight inside his chest and the heaviness inside his bones. It was so, so painful and so dark and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing made it better and nothing got rid of it. He wanted to cry but it felt like he was trapped in his own skin and just couldn’t get out.

A frantic knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Steve?” Bucky said. He sounded exhausted. “Are you okay?”

Steve lethargically lifted his head.

“Steve,” Bucky said more sharply. He tried the handle, but Steve had locked the door.

“I’m okay,” Steve said. His voice was hoarse.

He heard Bucky sigh audibly from the other side of the door.

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” Steve said slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bucky said. “Can you let me in?”

Steve wanted to let him in, but he also just wanted to sit here on the cold floor and try and breathe through lungs that felt too heavy to pull in each breath.

He heard the sound of Bucky sitting down on the other side of the door.

“I’m gonna be right out here, okay?” Bucky called. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve closed his eyes and pressed his face into his knees.

 

He finally got up hours later, when he was tired enough to actually sleep again without tossing and turning. He opened the washroom door and nearly tripped over Bucky.

Bucky was curled up on the hallway floor, with his back to the wall and his feet stretched out to press against the wall opposite. His arms were crossed and his head had lolled forward onto his shoulders.

Steve wanted to die.

 

He wasn’t sure if the days or the nights were the worst. The days were bad because he felt like he should be up. He should be doing things. He should be at work. He should be making dinner or doing chores or _something_.

But instead he was just lying here, watching through the window as summer changed into fall and the sea grew darker and wind started to howl off the rocks.

The nights were a little better because there was no obligation to get up and do things, but they were terrible when Steve couldn’t sleep, which was often. He’d lie awake and stare at the ceiling, listening to Bucky breathing next to him. He’d think about all the ways that he was hurting Bucky and he’d hate himself even more.

 

It was something small that did it.

It was a weekend again. He knew that because Bucky was here. He was downstairs somewhere, Steve thought.

In a rare burst of energy, Steve had gotten up. He’d heard the sound of one of the windows in his mother’s room thudding in the wind, and he walked in there to close it.

He pulled the window shut again, and looked around the room. It was so quiet in there, and if Steve closed his eyes he could almost pretend like she was still there. The bed was neatly made, the photos were all still in their frames on the dresser, and her paintings were hanging on the wall.

Steve wandered around the room, idly running his hand over the bookshelves and the chair. She’d been here. She’d sat in this chair, she’d read these books, she’d kept her clothes in this dresser.

His gaze settled on the other nightstand, sandwiched between the wall and the bed. It had one small drawer that Steve didn’t think he’d opened.

He knelt down in front of it and pulled it open. He pulled out a circular piece of string, shells haphazardly glued to it.

Steve remembered making this. He’d been in elementary school, probably only in grade four. It had been a project for a class. He’d carefully collected all the shells from the beach and then painstakingly attached them to the string.

He’d carried it home in his hands, lest it get broken. He’d proudly presented it to his mother, and she’d laughed and thanked him. She’d worn it all that evening around her neck before she’d taken it off again for safekeeping.

When he’d protested, she’d pulled him into her lap. She’d told him very seriously that she loved his gift, and that she’d keep it forever.

“I’ll wear it at your wedding,” she’d said with a smile. “Everyone will all be dressed up and I’ll be wearing my best dress and I’ll probably be crying lots.”

Steve had frowned. “Why will you be crying?”

“Because I’ll be so happy!” she’d said. “And you just wait, Steve. I’ll be wearing this necklace. I’ll even buy a dress to match.”

Steve blinked, and he was still sitting in a room that his mother hadn’t lived in for a long time now and holding a dumb necklace that he’d made her and that she’d kept all this time, all these years later, but she was never going to come to his wedding and she’d never get to wear it. She hadn’t been at his college graduation and she wouldn’t meet her grandchildren and she’d never met Bucky and she’d died alone in this room because Steve had been asleep in his –

Abruptly, he was crying. He sat back against the wall, still clutching the necklace in his hand as sobs ripped through his chest.

“Steve?” he heard Bucky call from downstairs. He couldn’t catch his breath. God, he was hurting Bucky so much, and he couldn’t help it. He missed his mom, he missed her and it physically hurt. He just wanted her to be here and he wanted to hear her laugh again and he didn’t want to have to do this all on his own. It wasn’t fair that she’d been so sick when she’d worked so hard to make sure that Steve was healthy. She’d worked so hard her entire life and she’d deserved everything and instead she’d died in pain and with only Steve to take care of her –

“Steve,” Bucky said, crouching down next to him.

Steve looked at him desperately, and he couldn’t _breathe._ He buried his head in his hands and tried to get himself under control but he couldn’t, everything just hurt so much and he just wanted it to stop.

He felt Bucky wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders. Steve wanted to tell him how grateful he was, how amazing it was that Bucky was still here through all of this and how much Steve loved him but he couldn’t. It was like the words were getting stuck in his throat, and everything was just simultaneously too loud and too heavy and too quiet.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there for. At some point his sobs tapered off and he got his breath back. Bucky hauled him up some time after that and pulled him back down the hallway to their room. Steve crawled back under the covers and fell asleep again, exhausted.

He was so tired.

He was so, so, tired of this.

 

Clint did come over at some point. Steve heard him and Natasha and Bucky all talking downstairs.

The bedroom door opened a while later.

“Hey, Steve,” Clint said cheerfully. “Can I come in?”

Steve wanted to talk to him, he did, but that was so much work and he was so tired and it was so hard. He kept his eyes closed and stayed curled under his blankets.

“Steve?”

He heard Clint come closer. He sat down on the bed next to Steve for a while, and finally Steve opened his eyes. He blinked tiredly as Clint’s face swam into view, and then closed his eyes again.

He was dropping back down into real sleep when Clint finally left.

“Nat, he looks really bad,” he heard Clint say out in the hallway. He sounded uncharacteristically upset.

“I told you,” Bucky said miserably. Natasha sighed.

Steve fell asleep again.

 

There wasn’t any big turning point. There was nothing in particular that happened.

It was a bad day. It was a bad morning. It had been a bad yesterday, a bad night, and now it was a really, really bad morning.

Bucky had left for work hours ago. Steve was sitting up in bed, his head in his hands, trying not to think about how much he wanted it all to stop. The more he tried not to think about it, the worse it got. He just wanted to end, he just wanted all of this pain to end.

He had ideas, he had a plan, and they were too easy and it would be so much easier than to keep waking up like this –

Steve picked his phone up off the dresser and hit the call button next to Bucky’s name.

“Hey,” Bucky said when he picked up. “Sorry, I’m in a meeting, one sec.”

There were sounds in the background like he was walking outside.

“What’s up?” Bucky said a moment later. “Everything okay?”

Steve closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.

“Steve?” Bucky said sharply. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Steve stared at the wall in front of him, tears obscuring his vision again.

“Can you come home?” he said.

There was a short pause.

“Yeah,” Bucky said “I’m on my way right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

Sure enough, Steve heard Bucky’s key turn in the lock a short while later.

Steve looked at him when Bucky walked into their room. He really looked at him, for the first time in a while.

Bucky looked awful. His face was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was a mess, and his shirt wasn’t ironed.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again. Bucky just shook his head tiredly.

“It’s okay,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Steve stared at him for a long moment.

“I want to die,” he said honestly.

Bucky’s face crumpled. “Steve…”

“I…” Steve said desperately. He couldn’t put it into words. He couldn’t articulate how he didn’t really want to die, he wanted to live more than anything but he couldn’t keep going like this, it wasn’t getting better and he was pulling Bucky down with him.

Bucky climbed onto the bed, sitting in front of him.

“Steve, please,” Bucky said hoarsely. “I can’t help you, I can’t, there’s nothing more I can do. Please let me make you a doctor appointment, _please.”_

There were tears rolling down Bucky’s face. Steve didn’t even think Bucky noticed.

“Okay,” Steve said. “Okay.”

Bucky laughed, or made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

 

Bucky somehow got him an appointment with a doctor that afternoon. Steve didn’t know how he did it, but there’d been a lot of Bucky yelling into his phone and pacing around the house so that probably had something to do with it.

When they left a few hours later, Bucky kept hovering like he thought that Steve wasn’t going to go. Which, to be fair, had crossed Steve’s mind.

But there was no other options. This wasn’t going away and he was only getting worse. He knew that.

It took him an hour to get dressed because he kept having to sit down again. Even then he ended up leaving the house wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.

Bucky drove. Steve sat in the passenger’s seat and tried not to fall asleep.

He looked over at Bucky when they’d pulled into the parking lot and Bucky had turned off the car.

“I…” Steve started, but he didn’t even know what to say.

“It’ll be alright,” Bucky said. “Come on.”

They got out of the car. Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand as they walked, and Steve finally believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](http://cameronwolfe.tumblr.com)!


End file.
